


tranquility

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Fluff, Other, Self-Indulgent, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 23:25:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11301003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: They’d already spent the previous day putting the finishing touches on Ratchet’s upgraded frame; today it was Drift’s turn.





	tranquility

**Author's Note:**

> Had a bad mental health day yesterday and ended up writing yet another for the self-soothe fic pile. Normally I'd put this in 'a few drops of energon' but tbh I want to release it into the wild and don't feel like waiting on accumulating some other drabbles for another chapter there ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Alt-pronouns for maximum indulgence. Because I said so.

Ratchet wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Drift actually meditating… but then before this neither of them had really shared this sort of personal space, she supposed. But she’d always found it hard to believe, with how  _ active _ she’d always seen them. Even sitting, they’d always seemed brimming with energy, like a coiled spring ready to release.

 

And yet here Drift was, sitting there serenely with their legs crossed, holding perfectly still as some of the accent paint fresh on their plating dried. They’d already spent the previous day putting the finishing touches on Ratchet’s upgraded frame; today it was Drift’s turn. 

 

The quiet days, drifting leisurely from one outpost to another, had proved the best for this. Soft music played from the main console. Drift had insisted and Ratchet hadn’t found a reason to argue.

 

She began mixing the bright red paint around again, watching Drift closely. They hadn’t so much as twitched, optics shuttered, limbs loose and relaxed.

 

She’d glimpsed, a few times, a similar peaceful look upon their features as they recharged. This was different -- a little -- but Ratchet was, at least, comfortable in feeling her own contentment at having seen both. Drift deserved a little peace.

 

Brush and makeshift pot in hand, Ratchet stepped close enough for their fields to slip into a close knit; familiar by now, considering the close quarters they’d shared for the past several weeks. Still, it was a pleasant warmth that she welcomed against her plating.

 

“Drift.”

 

The mech opened their optics, peering up at Ratchet without much change in expression. Well, scratch that -- they were smiling, just a tiny bit. 

 

Geez. “You ready for more?”

 

Drift’s smile broadened. “Yeah.” They shifted a little, but mostly stayed where they were. Worked for Ratchet; not many other places to go, anyway. She sidled closer, carefully evening out the paint on the brush.

 

They’d already discussed the desired accents, so now it was just the last few on their face and helm and it would all be done.

 

As Ratchet lifted her hand, Drift shuttered their optics once more. Carefully, Ratchet pressed the brush to Drift’s features and began a long, steady stroke of the brush. Watching close kept her hand steady down the curve of Drift’s cheek.

 

She had to admit, as much as she’d scoffed about this music before, she really enjoyed it now. It was gentle, soft notes filtering through the cabin. Something about the slow, precise strokes of the brush and the gentle pulse of the notes from the console made this easier -- damn near hypnotic.

 

If this is what meditation was like, it wasn’t so bad. 

 

She continued, relaxed by the motion of her hand and the texture of the brush on Drift’s frame, in perfect harmony that seemed guided by the quiet instrumental tones surrounding them. Drift managed to keep perfectly still, their slow, steady intake cycles only adding the the whole effect.

 

At least, until the very last details on their helm. They shifted and Ratchet gently grasped their chin with her free hand, keeping Drift’s helm still for the last few brush strokes.

 

Ratchet smiled when she had finished, finally gazing down as she set the brush aside again. Drift was staring at her, seemingly fascinated by the curve of her lips.

 

Overcome, Ratchet pulled them forward, her intakes cycling to match theirs. She pressed two small kisses to their cheeks, where the newly painted marks ended. “Dry,” she confirmed. It was true -- there were no smudges, nor any transfer to her lips.

 

A slight pout puckered Drift’s own lips. “What if it hadn’t been?”

 

Ratchet snorted softly, gently pulling them closer again and kissed them carefully on the lips. Feeling Drift melt into it just a little bit was worth it, every bit.


End file.
